


And please, say to me, you'll let me hold your hand

by friendlystranger1312



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Attempt at Humor, But they're forty and disaster gays, Comedian Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak & Beverly Marsh Are Best Friends, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak-centric, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier-centric, Fluff and Humor, I'm sorry they aren't here I'll write more for them in the future!, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mentioned Bill Denbrough, Mentioned Mike Hanlon, Minor Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:49:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21977614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friendlystranger1312/pseuds/friendlystranger1312
Summary: “Eddie, you need to live a little!” He rolls his eyes shifting his phone from one shoulder to the next as he types a reply about the newest expense report for the Hanscom Associates Project.“I live plenty Bev! I go out regularly to Tuesday trivia nights, I eat at a food truck that sells those delicious fruit blend smoothies, only thinking about the bacterial growth from the half washed blenders between drink orders half the time, and I have a cat. A cat, Bev! That’s progress in and of itself right there, and Lion-o would agree with me.”Or, The IT AU where Eddie is introduced to Richie at a comedy show and rants about him in his head for 12,000 words.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 19
Kudos: 159





	And please, say to me, you'll let me hold your hand

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Richie is a popular stand-up comedian, and Eddie accidentally attended his performance and immediately fell in love.](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/545017) by haflacky. 



> [Now, let me hold your hand](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v1HDt1tknTc)

“Eddie, you need to live a little!” He rolls his eyes shifting his phone from one shoulder to the next as he types a reply about the newest expense report for the Hanscom Associates Project.

“I live _plenty_ Bev! I go out regularly to Tuesday trivia nights, I eat at a food truck that sells those delicious fruit blend smoothies, only thinking about the bacterial growth from the half washed blenders between drink orders half the time, and I have a cat. A _cat_ , Bev! That’s progress in and of itself right there, and Lion-o would agree with me.”

Bev scoffs on the other line and the distinct clack of a tooth on metal lets him know she’s got needles in her mouth. _Again_.

“Beverly, I swear to _god_ if you don’t spit out those pins before you choke and swallow them, I’ll dress you in a clown suit at your funeral just so everyone can witness the joke that is your afterlife.”

He grimaces in disgust at the wet slurp Bev makes into the phone and doesn’t need to see her to _know_ she’s wearing a shit-eating grin.

“Fuck you, Bev, _Fuck_ you!”

She cackles into the phone and he leans back in his chair with a fond smile despite his aggressive words.

“Alright, alright,” He hears shuffling and muffled talking as Bev excuses herself from probably tailoring a new outfit for her upcoming fall launch.

“I can agree Lion-o is the cutest fur-baby around, and a _huge_ step in the right direction, but there’s only so many Friday evenings in with a glass of white Sutterhome, Netflix, and the cutest Thundercat before your liver is begging for relief! You need to do something _other_ than drink away your days!”

Eddie scoffs, “What, so, you want me to attend a comedy show sober.”

“Oh, _god_ , heavens no! We are _absolutely_ pre-gaming this thing like 20 somethings instead of the 40-year-old fuddy-duddies we are.” She laughs full-heartedly and Eddie knows his resistance is futile.

Bev’s been his best (only), oldest (only), most loyal (only) friend since he first stumbled into her when she was dripping in bloody trash water (he holds back a gag at the memory teenagers are _fucked_ ) and produced an army of wet wipes, aerosol deodorant and air freshener, and clean clothes to change into. Before that, he could safely say he’d never considered himself the type of person a crying girl would cling to, mainly due to his intense phobia of touch transferable bacterium and his many nerdy qualities that acted as a general buffer to the female student body. And the student body in general.

Oddly enough, bullies had _no_ problem seeking Eddie Kaspbrak out and making his skin a _lovely_ shade of purple and maybe his own freshly swollen black eye that day let Bev trust him enough to help her. Whatever the case, they became _inseparable_ after that and coasted through high-school leaning on each other when all the world tried to do was tear them down.

When Bev went through her messy divorce with the dickbag formally known as Tom Rogan (formally because even in polite conversation Eddie refused to refer to him as anything other than ‘that douchebag’), Eddie was right there with her the whole time. He’d reassure her, comfort her, give her all his time and then some just to put a smile back on her face and help support her as she ripped herself from this cycle of abuse. Some days they didn’t even talk, just sitting on his couch in companionable silence, Eddie there for her in any way she needed.

Because he knew well enough what it was like.

Beverly was there for him just as much as he was for her, his only vocal supporter and fiery headed knight in shining armor. She couldn’t stop all the verbal bullying (petty teenagers and cruel adults wielded words in the same cut), but physical school harassment lessened with her around if only because she wasn’t afraid to give the abuse right back if they laid into him.

She kept him sane when the suffocating stranglehold of his mother kept him locked up by helping him sneak out so they could escape to the woods where the trees wouldn’t judge them.

Because she knew well enough too.

When he showed up to her high rise loft, ring absent from his finger and the weight of his shame pulling on his brow, she held her arms open (she always would) as he let out the years of repression ( _you’re not **dirty** are you Eddie-bear?_) that had nearly bled him dry.

They were there for each other in every way their families should have been, in every way they knew the other needed, and in every way that mattered.

So, he knew the moment Bev asked him to join her at this comedy guys show she was given free seats to for dressing the head runner, he’d say yes. Truthfully, it sounded exactly like the kind of reasonable change of pace he was going for in his post-divorce mid-life crisis resolution of living his best life.

But he had to be somewhat of a shit about it.

“You’re really pulling my leg here Marsh. But, if you include two bottles of Sutterhome, you’ve got yourself a deal.”

“I’ll do you one better with three, followed by dinner. Oh, and wear something nice!”

He raises a brow at that, usually, if it’s just the two of them, dress code is casual. But, he does have that new suit to take out on the town, so he nods. Before realizing she’s on the phone, not in front of him, like an idiot.

“Yeah, okay. But nowhere with cashews! Or-”

“You could realistically die, I _know_. Don’t worry so much, this will be fun!”

He somehow doubts that.

Two days later he finds himself suited up in a Marsh original arm and arm with the designer herself as they enter the VIP section of the venue.

They didn’t end up pre-gaming like 20-year-olds with too much life ahead of them and not enough experience to know their limits, but he still stumbles over the entry guard considering himself reasonably tipsy as he catches himself, the warm thrum in his veins keeps the anxiety at bay.

Bev notices his misstep and holds in bubbles of laughter as she leads him inside to a velvet roped off area where other names, or big spenders, mingle about separated from the general public until the show begins. At least, he assumes they’re all famous people, but then again he’s the ordinary schmuck dragged in on the arm of a fashion icon, so maybe he’s not the only one.

He keeps on an awkward smile, nodding at the occasional friendly smile thrown their way, as Beverly effortlessly guides them through the small crowd with a goal clearly in mind. He leans closer to whisper to her a pinched grin still affixed to his face. “When you said a comedy show, I was thinking secluded seats where we didn’t have to _talk_ to anyone.”

“So, I may have been a little misleading, but there’s someone I want you to meet!”

“You could have just said that like a normal person, and not bribed me to go to a comedy show with you!”

“I thought it’d be fun! You and I get to enjoy a night out, and I can introduce you to the boys. Two birds, one stone. Sue me Kaspbrak, I’m a multi-tasker.”

“Boys? Plural? Bev,” He stops moving than even as she tries to tug him forward. She looks back at him and he must look more panicked then he meant to because she's ushering him off to a sidewall smiling politely at people they pass.

She huddles him between a decorative fern (probably fake) and an unoccupied settee looking at him seriously. “Eddie, you know I love you, but I’m worried, and these people are _really_ nice so I figured it wouldn’t hurt to expand your social circle a little bit.”

“I’m social! Just last week I went out for drinks with Betty and some of the other guys from accounting.”

“You told me they were total grade-A assholes with superiority complexes longer than your medical history!”

“Well, yeah, but I still went out with them!”

His words come out whiney and defensive even to himself. She gives him a soft look lightly touching his arm. “Eddie, honey, I’m not going to force you to stick around these guys if you really don’t like them. I just-” She cuts herself off and flushes glancing to the side.

“-One of them, his names Ben, and I wanted you to meet him? Especially? We’ve been talking, nothing serious, but he’s so _earnest_ that I kinda want it to be. More serious.” She looks flustered and unsure and Eddie’s heart melts for his best friend.

He takes her hands in his squeezing them comfortingly. “You know you don’t need anyone's approval Bev, least of all mine. But if it makes you happy, I’ll stand there, sanitizer at the ready, to shake hands with anyone lucky enough to earn your attention.”

Her tense shoulders fall and a little smile graces her lips. “You’re a good friend Kaspbrak, how has no one snatched you up yet?”

“Inability to memorize my list of allergens and high standards.” He shrugs a soft grin on his face.

She laughs then turns back to the crowd, scanning it a moment before perking up pulling Eddie along to the ‘boys’ she wanted him to meet. “You’re really going to like them, over there!” She shoves through a group mingling in the center of them room and points out three people in a half-circle.

There’s a Brazilian soccer player and a Greek Adonis rolled into one and a stoic curly haired lanky guy rolling his eyes at something a scruffy guy is ranting about in between the two.

Eddie feels the nerves bubble up, he’s not exactly _good_ with new people. Too used to strangers taking one look at his frown lines and confrontational demeanor and general neuroticism and saying ‘Hm, _no_. _Thanks_ , I’m okay.’

Except Bev. And this is important to her, so he sucks in a deep breath and plasters on perhaps the fakest nervous smile in existence as the scruffy guy (who looks like a cross between Jim Carrey in that dark superhero movie and a rugged forty year old that smoked too much weed in college and never lost the ‘slightly burnt out but working it’ look) starts waving obnoxiously until all three of them are looking in their direction.

“Molly Ringwald, in the flesh, Ah’ Say, Well Ah’ do say tis’ an honor Missus’!” He puts on a voice and honest to god does a full body bow, sweeping Bev’s hand up and placing an exaggeratedly loud kiss to the back of her palm.

She laughs and lightly slaps his arm shoving him upright. “ _Stop_ , you’ll ruin your suit! Too much effort went into it for it to be this wrinkled already!” She smooths out his lapel and fusses over him for a moment and Eddie gets a distinct swooping feeling as if a rugs been pulled out from under him and now he’s free floating but still hasn’t hit the ground and isn’t even sure if there is a ground to hit.

He blinks, taking in this cousin of Bigfoot with a five o’clock shadow that's well maintained enough to _possibly_ be intentional but his wild hair, messy suit and slouch suggests he may just _wake up_ this way and he refuses to acknowledge the flutter in his gut implying that _does_ something for him.

He hopes to any power listening that’s never responded to him in his _life_ to answer now and let this guy _**not**_ be Ben.

Then immediately feels guilty for that thought because of _anyone_ in the world that deserves to find someone decent it’s Beverly Marsh, and who is he to deny-

“-is Richie.”

Oh thank _fuck_ you’re not Ben.

The guy looks taken aback at that, and Eddie realizes with shocking clarity he just fucking _said that aloud_.

“I-I mean, Bev’s been telling me about this Ben guy,” ( _LITERALLY SHE MENTIONED HIM **TWO** SECONDS AGO EDDIE YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT HE LOOKS LIKE **WHAT THE FUCK**_ ) “and, my standards are pretty low,” ( _LIES_ ) “but I wasn’t exactly picturing a stoner with a dad bod and a jawline that could cut diamond when she told me about him.”

( _ **ABORT ABORT ABORT!!!**_ )

There’s a brief moment of startled silence where diamond jaw and Bev both stare at him completely floored. Diamond jaw, probably because Eddie just put his foot _so_ far into his mouth it’s reached back around to the floor and it’s like watching a diver smack the diving board and face plant into the water. Painful to watch, but you can’t move your eyes away because it happens and then it’s over too fast to do anything about it.

Bev, probably because she’s never seen Eddie attempt to flirt _like that_ before and isn’t sure whether to play ‘concerned supportive’ best friend for the flaming dumpster sludge that spewed from his oral canal or ‘oh my _god_ I am _**never**_ letting you live this down’ best friend.

But the stunned silence lasts maybe ten seconds at the most, long enough to be noted but not long enough for things to turn awkward (Well, any _more_ awkward), before annoyed curly haired guy holds his stomach as he breaks out in belly-aching cackles pointing at diamond jaw ( _Richie, at least use his name!_ ).

“He fucking _roasted_ you Rich! _Dad bod_! **HA**!”

Richie breaks out in a huge shit-eating grin looking Eddie up and down (and he doesn’t even _try_ to deny that does _something_ for Eddie’s confidence). “Bev, you didn’t tell me you were friends with a member of the Lollipop Guild, I would have rolled out the red carpet!”

“Short jokes, real original. What, you fancy yourself some kind of _comedian_?” He tilts his head in challenge only making his friend laugh even harder as Bev covers her mouth to hide her mirth sharing amused glances with the Adonis.

Richie doesn’t seem the slightest bit offended, grinning impossibly wider, and twitches his hands like he’s about to reach out to Eddie, but instead shoves his hands in his pockets eyes alight with some secret mirth as he shrugs casually. “Yeah, _something_ like that.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, but can feel the traitorous half smile on his face.

Bev pats his arm, a question swimming in her eyes that seems all too knowing for his taste, but continues on like the champion she is. “As I was saying, _Dad bod_ here is Richie,” she points at each of them in turn smile predominate on her face, “Stan,” the curly haired guy is still trying to get his breathing under control but gives a half-wave at his name, “and finally, _this_ is Ben.”

She gestures to the Adonis who’s all light flushes and soft smiles. He steps forward to give Eddie a firm handshake, “Nice to meet you, Beverly’s talked about you a few times, all good things don’t worry.” He chuckles lightly. “You mean a good deal to her, so I look forward to getting to learn more about you.”

Eddie considers himself a reasonably decent judge of character. Growing up as an outcast, he’s gotten skilled at watching people, how they interact, their mannerisms, when someone is being earnestly polite, or when it’s all just part of the act. His ex-wife Myra, for all the toxicity of their relationship, was neither of those things. It’s one of the few things he liked about her, she didn’t pull her punches and let everyone know what's on her mind (even if it wasn’t the nicest thing to say).

Ben also isn’t either of those things, but not in the cutting honest way Myra was, but in the honest way that he _means_ what he says. He is truly interested to know more about Eddie because he’s important to Bev and that makes him important to Ben.

Eddie gives Bev a look that says ‘okay, where did you find this one and can I get six of him’ that has her flushing a light pink.

“Same here,” and he’s happy to say he means that back.

Stan’s calmed down enough, but can’t keep the smile off his face, and gives his hand a light shake as well. “Eddie, right? Beverly let us know she was bringing her friend. _Please_ tell me we are going to see each other more. If it means taking Rich down a peg, I can even promise you my first born.”

He says it so seriously Eddie can’t help playing along.

“Tempting offer, but I feel like I shouldn’t be rewarded for basic human decency.”

“ _Oooh_ , another zinger Eds! Maybe we should get a mic in those hands. Anyone got a chance to swing by and borrow one from Barbie’s dream house?”

“Who the fuck said _that_ is my name. It’s Eddie, Eddie Kaspbrak.”

“It’s a nickname, a term of endearment for conquering the frozen tundra that is our dear Staniel’s sense of humor over here.”

Stan stares at him with a deadpan look, “I have a sense of humor Richie, you’re just not funny.” Then, cracks a grin at the end.

Richie mimes getting struck, falling into Ben in a sudden dead faint who struggles to catch him, “Whoa-wait, Richie- _don’t_ \- can you warn me first?”

“I’ve been wounded Haystack, I don’t think I’m long for this world…!”

Ben tries to look incredibly put upon, but the fond smile on his lips betrays him. “Somehow I doubt that.”

“Ben’s right, you’re like a cockroach Rich. You’d survive a nuclear blast on sheer dumbassery alone, unfortunately.”

The three trade friendly barbs and Eddie shares a look with Bev. He just met these three idiots and he can already see why Bev wanted them to meet. It feels like a part of himself, one he didn’t even know went missing, slotted itself against his misshapen puzzle piece. It’s not a perfect fit, and they’ll be some adjustment periods, but it’s a fit.

They click, and he yearns to have more of this in his life for however long he can.

“So, tell me Eds, you ever been to this guys comedy show before?” Expressive brown eyes focus back in on him and his pulse skips a beat at the intensity he finds in their depths.

“I don’t even remember the guys name to be honest. Trashmouth something?” He shrugs as Bev hides a smile behind her hand.

He narrows his eyes as Ben smothers a grin by pressing his lips together and distinctly feels like he’s missing out on a joke here.

Stan pats his shoulder solemnly. “You’re lucky you haven’t, the guys a _hack_.”

“Why do you keep coming back?”

“I’m being held hostage. Please call the police.”

Eddie snorts a laugh, half covering his grin as he shakes his head Stan chuckling along with him.

“I had to practically bribe him to come, he’s a stubborn one fellas.” Bev pokes him in the side and he swats her prodding fingers away.

“Comedy isn’t my bag, you know that. Seems like it’s full of people that need a good ego stroke because they can’t get it up otherwise.”

Richie barks a laugh, “You sure comedy isn’t your thing? You’re full of chucks for such a tiny package.”

“Good things come in small packages.” He’s not sure where his wave of bravado comes from, but he raises a challenging brow at Richie. “But, I would call my _package_ anything but.”

His eyes follow the bob of Richie’s adam's apple licking his lips unconsciously, and by the focus in the others eyes he can tell whatever is charged between the two is mutual. And that _absolutely_ does something for the swirl of self-confidence building in his gut.

But, they’re in a room full of people, so Eddie follows it up with a joke. “Unlike you, they need a microscope to find your nads when you were born, or what?”

The group shares a laugh, Bev smacking his arm lightly. “ _Eddie_ , we weren’t saying anything so he could keep his pride!”

“Oof, cruel words, what did the little Richards ever do to you?”

Stan scrunches his nose in a sneer, “Be called ‘ _Little Richards_ ’ for one.”

Richie opens his mouth to respond, but before he can his phone rings. He checks it, and a wave of anxiety seems to come over his face as he steps away to talk to whomever is on the other line. His fist opens and closes at his side as he stands rim-rod straight staring into a fake potted fern like he’s staring into the gaping maw of razor sharp teeth just before the end.

Eddie feels like he’s intruding on a moment, but the others look on concerned too so he doesn’t feel as creepy about it. Nevertheless, he clears his throat turning to Ben, “So, what do you do for work?”

He lights up, like the kind of person whose work is what they love, like Beverly does whenever he chats her up about a new design she’s been sketching out. “I’m an architect! I design buildings of all kinds for a living, even designed my own house. See, I started with the idea of a clubhouse…”

Ben talks animatedly, and even though Eddie only understands half of the architectural jargon, he finds himself drawn into the passion of his words. Bev joins in, clearly sharing his dedication to her job, and it’s sweet that she can share this part of her so openly with someone as equally enthused as her.

But, he can’t stop casting glaces at Richie’s prone form some feet away from them. He’d slipped his hand into his pocket now, and Eddie would bet he’s picking at the inseam inside like a nervous tick.

The third glance over, their eyes lock, and Eddie compulsively flips him the bird. He’s not even sure why, but Richie flips him the bird right back and his shoulders are still tight with tension but the look of staring into the face of his own death lessened so he counts it as a win.

“-so I started my own company, Hanscom Associates.”

“Wait, Hanscom Associates as in the guys that built my companies building Hanscom Associates? The same Hanscom I’ve been working on the new Madison Ave portfolio project with?” Eddie blurts out in an awed ramble. “Ben, _you’re_ behind all of that?”

Ben looks surprised and a humble flush comes over him, “We’re not _that_ big a deal. I have teams of people that work on a few projects at the same time, so it’s not all a one man show. It’s a group effort, honestly without Mikey as my go to general contractor I don’t think we’d be half as successful. That guy has _vision_.”

Stan nods his head, “Cheers to that. Lucky guy is on vacation in Florida, or you would have met him tonight. Always tries to make it out to these when Trashmouth performs.”

“He a big fan?”

“Knows the guy,” Stan shrugs. “So, I’m the unfortunate patsy in his place because I thought New York would be a fun place to show my wife Patty. But, she’s off at a Broadway show with some old college friends, and I’m stuck here.”

“A true pain, who wants to be stuck listening to the Trashmouth when they could see Hamilton on Broadway? If I got tickets, I’d skip this too.” Bev agrees in solidarity.

“Hey,” Richie shoves back into group fiddling with a pass in his hand. “Not to interrupt this completely touching and sympathetic show of support, but they need me backstage. Issue with the-” He looks at Eddie stumbling over his words, “ _lighting_! Yeah, spot light cues. Gotta run tech again. But-” He hands the badge to him with a nervous grin.

“If you end up liking the headliner, thought you’d want to meet him backstage.” He winks and (Eddie cannot believe he witnessed a forty year old man actually do this in a real conversation) wags finger guns at him.

Eddie furrows his brow legitimately baffled. Was Richie trying to show off that he knew the headliner or something? Eddie came here with an already famous friend, if that meant even half of a shit to him he’d be geeking out over many of the other people in this room not avoiding them like the plague.

“Why the _fuck_ would I want to talk to a guy that calls himself _Trashmouth_.” The other three laugh, and now he’s almost certain he’s missing something here, but Richie distracts him with his soft smile that smooths the contours of his face into a nearly fond grin. Eddie’s fingers twitch with a stab of _want_ to run his fingers across that sharp jawline to feel the scratch of his stubble in contrast to the gentle look gracing Richie’s face.

“Enjoy the show Eds.”

And he’s gone into the crowd before Eddie can even protest that it’s not his name.

He furrows his brow turning to the others, “What the fuck are _you_ assholes laughing about!”

It only makes them laugh harder.

They mill about for another thirtyish minutes, before the doors open and they all find their seats at the front of the stage. Ben and Stan are right next to them, which surprises him that they happen to have seats so close, but if they got them because they know the headliner (And thus know Bev) then it makes sense it’s a group thing.

Sitting down, he turns to Stan on his right. “Clearly you know this guy pretty well, in all honesty, how funny is he?”

Stan mulls over the question, like he’s tasting a harty wine and can’t quite get the flavor descriptions down. “He’s- alright he’s crude,” Ben snorts mumbling ‘That’s an understatement’ under his breath as Stan rolls his eyes.

“Thanks Ben. Helpful. _Anyway_ , he’s crude, so if you’re a bit of a prude that might put you off a bit, but he’s also brutally honest in a refreshing way.” Stan smiles, pride in his voice when speaking about his friend. “He’s come a long way from titty jokes, now it’s titty _and_ dick jokes and that right amount of personal that has you chuckling along.”

Eddie might have only known Stan for the better part of an hour, but he already feels like this guy talks a lot of shit, but cares deeply for the people in his life. He’s not sure if he’ll care for the comedy, and Eddie’s not the type of person to laugh if he really doesn’t like a joke, but he’s slightly more excited to see this ‘Trashmouth’ from the compliments Stan pays him.

Bev slips a hand into his squeezing it. “I have a _funny_ feeling you’ll like him Eddie.”

He grimaces. “Leave the jokes to the professionals Marsh. I’m almost embarrassed to be seen with you for that one.”

She shoves his shoulder and they talk among themselves as the theater fills.

The lights slowly dim and a low intro music, that sounds like a steady drumbeat played to electronica vibrates through the speakers. Spot lights shine on the stage swirling in a kaleidoscope of colour, and Eddie’s pulse up ticks wrapped up in the excitement of it all.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” A deep MC speaks getting the attention of the crowd as a hush falls over the audience. “Fresh off his performance in Boston, he drove all night to bring his comedy stylings to New York Ci- _tay_ , put your hands together for _the_ randy, _the_ unapologetic, _the_ Trashy Trashmouth To- _zier_!”

What. The. _Fuck_.

Eddie’s mouth flaps open and closed in pure shock as Richie, in his pressed suit and lumbering gait, walks out on stage a hand raised as the crowd bursts into cheers.

The fucking traitorous assholes next to him barely holding in their laughter and _oh my god he made a complete fool of himself in front of all of them why didn’t any of them **say** anything this is worse then the time Gretta Keene in high school asked him out on a dare then laughed in his face when he accepted in front of the whole school at a fucking pep rally and Bowers_-

Bev squeezes his hand and he glances over to her, mirth swimming in her eyes, but its not malicious. She’d never be that way with him, and a glance over to Stan and Ben show the friendliness in their expressions despite their shaking shoulders. He feels his hackles lower but still mouths ‘Fuck you’ at each of them in turn as Richie makes his way to center stage.

“Thank you, thank you,” He spends a few moments nodding and waving at the crowd smiling.

“Wow, just, really I’m _floored_ guys. You all came to see _me_? You paid money, actual hard earned bucks, for _these_ overpriced seats?”

He looks baffled for a moment and leans into the mic.

“You,” He stage whispers like it's a secret casting his eyes around, “You _know_ Hamilton is playing at the theater just across the street and you losers chose to be _here_?”

The crowd bursts into chuckles and he can see Stan smile out of the corner of his eye. Was the joke he made earlier about his wife a reference to Richie’s stand up, and _he completely missed it like an **idiot**_?

“Jokes on you guys, you’ve already paid me, so kiss those Hamilton scalper tickets buh- _bye_.”

Someone in the crowd whistles loudly and Richie chuckles pulling the mic from its stand as he points at where the person may be. “I mean, I’m not the type to cheer when I throw money at a dumpster fire, but hey, whatever gets your rocks off man.”

“No, seriously thank you guys, this is fucking _wild_. Like, if I could go back in time and tell thirteen year old me,” He puts on a serious expression adopting a tone like a Dad talking to his son. He kneels down sighing slightly miming talking to his younger self.

“Son,” He pauses, a smattering of light laughter going through the audience, “one day, far in the future, when you have a shitty back and a smelly dad bod,” He pauses, “people will pay to see you over the founding fathers rap sensation.”

He moves so he’s looking up speaking in a pale imitation of a child. “Founding- what??? Get the fuck away from me you fucking revolting hobo!”

“Shhhh, shhh,” He goes back to the Dad persona holding a hand up to silence his imaginary younger self. “You’re bigger than Lin-Miranda, shhh, just let it happen Little Richard.”

He looks up shouting in a high tone. “Eat shit grandpa!”

Richie falls to his knees clutching the mic in one hand and his balls in the other as if he got kicked returning to his normal tone. “Oof- oh, you little ungrateful fuck! Jokes on you, little asshole, you don’t get pussy till you’re _twenty_! And you fucking _hate_ it!!”

The crowd burst into laughter as Richie flicks off his younger self stumbling to a stand. Eddie hides a grin behind his hand holding his breath to keep any mirth from slipping out.

Richie laughs lightly along with the crowd circling back to the stool taking a small sip of water from the bottle there as he shakes his head. “Yeah, no, I was a fucking dick of a kid. My friends growing up can attest, they’re even here tonight! See the dude with the stick up his ass in the front row, not the shorty, but the tall guy? And the Calvin Klein model next to him?”

He motions to them and a few people crane their necks to get a look. Some wolf whistles sound as Ben hunches into his seat embarrassed, but Stan glares up at the stage shouting “ _Eat shit grandpa_!”

Richie cackles along with the crowd, snorting slightly. “See what I mean?”

“Really though, they put up with so much of my shit growing up. You know those people in college who’d stay up all night, drank a lot, like, liver damaging, hospitalizing, black out levels, _dra-ank_ then show up to class like-” He pulls out a pair of shades from his back pocket putting it on crossing his arms he’s stoic for a moment before he makes a soft snore into the mic.

“They’d show up to class like this, every day, and on the day of the exam proctor's passing out the tests and he gets to this kid-” He takes the glasses off deadly serious and mildly baffled putting on an exaggerated stuffy affronted professor voice.

“Mister Tozier. Mister _Tozier_.” Waving his hand in the person's face.

He puts the glass back on arms crossed and slouching slightly before letting out a more obnoxiously loud snore laughter bubbling across the audience.

He pulls the shades off looking baffled. “Is-is this kid seriously asleep? _Richard_! Richard, wake _up_!” He slaps the stool loudly before putting the glasses back on, but his character only snorts lightly, before their head falls back in an exaggeratedly loud snore slumping before popping awake in a snap.

“War of 1812, what?”

He switches to the stern teacher and mimes placing a paper in front of him “Glad of you to join us in _Calculus_. _Here’s_ your exam.”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” He stretches smacking his lips adjusting the sun glasses holding up the imaginary paper furrowing his brow before placing it down and rapidly miming filling out the paper quickly.

“And the whole time the professor is just _watching_ this guy until-” He puts his ‘pencil’ down nods and goes to give it in.

“Here you go, done.”

He switches to the professor looking distinctly unimpressed. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s been twelve minutes.”

“So it has.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

They nod at each other then Richie breaks character smiling taking another sip of water before pacing the stage.

“Later that night the guys grading papers, and he gets to the kids thinkin ‘Alright, what bullshit did he scribble down.’ and just _pauses_. Whole body, frozen, not even breathing, as he slowly scans through the paper, and _every answer is correct_. But, outside his office window he hears shouting, and what does he see?” He pauses for effect.

“The kid, buck _ass_ naked, _streaking_ across campus shouting,” Richie grabs his junk running from one side of the stage to the other, “Yippee-ki-yay Mother _fuckers_!”

The audience bursts into laughter and Eddie can’t help the snort that leaves him as Richie talks animatedly with his hands and body. He’s so _expressive_ , it’s hard not to be drawn into his stories and characters, and more than that, he’s drawn to _Richie_. He lights up on stage, impossibly bright, and a part of Eddie that’s never really connected with people romantically beyond initial physical attraction finds himself _wanting_.

His first instinct is to draw that feeling so far into himself and shove it down into the farthest corner of his mind to never see the light of day. A voice in his ear whispers, ‘ _He’ll **hurt** you Eddie, It’s not **natural** Eddie_’ that sounds too much like his M- ( _Mom, Myra? Is there really a difference?_ )

But that’s not his _life_ anymore.

His mom is _long_ buried in the ground, papers starting his legal separation from Myra sit safe in his file cabinet at home, and to his left is Bev- the person who means the _most_ to him in the world that was there for him when he couldn’t even be there for himself, and to the right are two people he’s only starting to know but feels as if their meeting was like a fresh breeze. A new beginning with _more_ honest friends that see something worthwhile in him, a friendship he couldn’t _wait_ to experience.

And then there’s Richie, standing center stage a smile on his face filling a whole _audience_ with light bubbles of laughter and joy.

He wants to know this guy.

His likes, dislikes, where he grew up, childhood stories, fears, pet peeves, joys, challenges, quirks, the good, the bad, everything that makes him up, tears, baggage and hidden skeletons, _all of it_. Discover all there is _beyond_ the lights of the stage and the persona that he displays.

He wants to _know_ Richie.

He wants lunch time coffee dates bantering in a crowded shop as people move around them but they stay orbiting each other. He wants late evenings curled up on the couch, a shared blanket across their laps soaking in the other's company as they watch whatever new show they’ve decided that week.

And he wants quiet mornings, the sun just tickling in through the blinds highlighting every dip, curve, and ridge of Richie’s face as the floating warm fog of affection bundles him up studying his face as if to immortalize it in his memory.

He wants Richie to want him too. In all the ways that matter.

So, he doesn’t shove it down, letting the warm flicker of interest blossom inside his chest to grow into all the ‘could be’s and ‘what if’s that race a thousand miles per hour through his thoughts. And even if it doesn’t work out, the _possibility_ , the _chance_ \- he can’t let that go.

Mid-story, ranting about his ‘dad bod’, Richie makes eye contact with him. And there’s no way he can really see him, the lights of the stage far too bright to make out any discerning features. But, he still winks, and goes on with the set. Eddie hates ( ~~loves~~ ) the rush it sends through his core, that little bit of casual pointed interest.

He lets his words wash over him for a moment, absorbing them and laughing along, but taking more note of how Richie _moves_. He’s so _animated_ his hands swishing, clenching, and gesticulating constantly while he talks. Each new story he brings in a bit of physical acting and it's funny, Eddie never considered comedy a physical activity, but Richie throws himself (sometimes literally) into each story with his movements and voices it’s so easy to get wrapped up in it just like Stan said.

“-and we just hear this _crinkling_ , like a plastic bag being scrunched, coming from the kitchen.” He puts his face close to the mic doing a fairly good imitation of the sound.

“And Staniel and I look at each other like ‘What the fuck is Billy boy doing?’ So, I go- Hey, Big Bill?” He cranes his neck like he’s calling someone in the distance.

“Keep in mind the counter is covering everything chest down when standing. So, we just see this bob of brown hair and that _crinkling_.”

Stan has a hand held tight over his mouth like he’s trying to contain ever bit of mirth, Ben on his other side openly in fits of giggles.

“So me, being the amazingly generous friend even as wasted as I was, gets up and there’s Bill. In the kitchen.” He makes a zipper sound into the mic. “Pants down, _squatting_ over the fucking trashcan!”

“And this guy, fucking black out drunk, just looks at me. Balls out, full dick in plain view. _Over a fucking trashcan_. And this guy, he doesn’t say anything, he just looks at me like-” Richie gives a small half laugh as he continues, in a squat pulling out a glazed punch drunk expression imitation of his friend.

“And Bill- I’ve known him my entire life. As a kid I looked up to him, like he was the _epitome_ of the ideal guy, and I don’t just mean that in a gay way. But, if you’re watching this Billy, I totally had a crush on you in our teens, all of us did, this dude was _magnetic_. I don’t know what the _fuck_ happened to him as an adult, but I think it’s all his terrible endings, stress lines you know.”

He draws out the ‘sss’ in ‘stress’ ending the sentence on a sassy lisp.

“It’s bad for the complexion.”

“But put yourself in the shoes of younger Richie Tozier for a second. Nineteen, drunk as hell, and the center of his adolescent gay crisis and the leader of our motley crew is trying to _shit_ in a trashcan in our _kitchen_. Needless to say-” He breathes out a breath staring off into the distance with a vaguely disturbed expression.

“I really had to rethink my life from the confused half-chub I hid in my _pants_!”

The audience burst out into laughter and cheers as Richie gives an exaggerated shudder on stage. “Don’t cheer, that shit was fucking mortifying!” But Richie laughs at the end of it bounding straight into the next joke.

He’s crude, and Eddie can say the bit of comedy he does watch is usually very dry humor based. But Richie’s, for lack of a better word, _trashmouth_ is almost part of his charm.

Like bulldogs with smooshed in faces and big wobbly jowls dripping with drool get a bad name and _shouldn’t_ be the type of dog Eddie would like (his co-worker brought her English bulldog puppy to work once and he was a little snorting bowling ball of slobber and Eddie _loved him_ gross slobber stains on his pressed dress slacks and all. ~~Myra had a fit when he came home that day covered in dog hair but bullshit allergies wouldn’t stop him from loving animals.~~ )

But Eddie feels light inside, taken on the waves of laughter Richie causes. In his lap he’s holding the backstage pass Richie gave him earlier, running his fingers over it’s laminated edges.

‘ _If you end up liking the headliner, thought you’d want to met him backstage._ ’

Eddie’s stomach does a lurch.

His eyes rake over Richie for the millionth time, arms gesticulating on a comedic point, and yeah.

Okay, yeah.

Their eyes meet again, Eddie bits his lip.

_Yeah._

Eddie ends up missing the rest of the show.

Not because he didn't like it, but because if he didn't have a private freak out in the bathroom he knew he'd lose his nerves before he even made it backstage. Bev gives him a _look_ as he leaves, which he doesn’t even dignify with a reaction. He’s only lucky Richie didn’t comment on his exit like others, but he could feel his eyes burning into him even as he hunches away from the stage.

He bursts into the restroom stiff backed surreptitiously checking the stalls to ensure he’s alone. He tosses the badge, searing his skin with the thoughts it encourages, onto the counter clutching the sinks edge in a deep sigh.

The laughter from the audience drifts into the room, echoing in his temporary white marbled refuge, and he examines the counters and is pleased to find not a drop of water or soap suds carelessly flung from dirty hands. He’ll gives this venue that, they keep their bathrooms clean.

It makes the next six minutes and twenty-three seconds of hyperventilating a _lot_ easier knowing his environment is clean.

He’s an _adult_ , and sometimes _adults_ meet other attractive adults and decide to do… _adult things_ and that’s _normal_ and totally something new midlife crisis post-divorce Eddie is up for and his brain needs to get the message already cause the rest of him sure has and is all systems go so _get it together Houston_.

Fuck, now he’s thinking of Tom Hanks, and that’s a distracting thought in the _worst ( ~~best~~ )_ kind of way since his skin is _buzzing_ \- oh, wait, no that's his phone.

He stares at his phone vacantly waiting for more, the digital clock inching closer and closer to the end of the show, but the conversation stops.

Typical. He rolls his eyes, but his lips twitch into a slight smile the swirl of panic in his gut calming.

Bev, always the troublemaker.

He runs a hand through his hair, then squints at his reflection. Left part, or right part? If he goes with the left he can hide the chicken pox scar he stubbornly scratched despite his mom's best efforts to drown him in talcum powder. But right highlights his best angle…

C'mon Kaspbrak pull it together here, he's just a _guy_. There's no reason to be so nervous about all this. After his divorce, Eddie played the field, went on a few dates and had some fun. Nothing serious, but he never met anyone he connected with. No one that he _wanted_ to pursue (Even Myra he didn’t _pursue_ as much as fall into inexplicably and with little protest, but he proposed so it counted for something), or rather, no one he’d _let_ himself.

There was always something, an excuse.

At first it was reasonable, fresh off a difficult divorce and embracing a side of himself he never had before didn’t leave him with a ton of dating confidence or prospects.

But, he did meet _some_ people. And then the problem became obvious.

Will was sweet, but seemed more like a casual friend then a romantic prospect.

Billy had a nice smile and was very family-oriented, was big on romantic gestures, but kept busy with work that pulled him away at odd times and Eddie needed more of a schedule to his life.

Dan knew how to make Eddie smile, knew how to verbally spare like the best of them. Funny, kind, emotionally available, everything Eddie wanted in an ideal guy. But, he didn’t feel a spark between them, and Dan accepted that with a gentle acceptance like he already knew but wanted to enjoy their time together nevertheless.

Everyone of them, the problem was never anything _real_ , but a _fear_ of intimacy that he’s dragged with him nearly all his life. A _fear_ of the unknown.

His heart beats loud, strumming a tune through his blood that rises to colour his cheeks red.

Even now he’s afraid, despite his mental gymnastics sending him ass backwards over Richie. And he’s _tired_ of it. He _wants_ this one, and he’s not going to let himself ( _his hang-ups, his fear, his mom, Myra_ ) get in the way of finding out exactly why and where that leads.

He hears the deafening applause as the show comes to an end, and looks himself over again.

Gaunt face, nervous, blotchy red cheeks, and a whole lot of fear swirled together with a burning desire that’ll come off as far too intense, but Eddie’s not the type of person to hold back.

And something in his gut tells him Richie’s not either.

He can do this.

He grabs the pass.

\-----------

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-

“Richie, dude, the show was a hit-wha, where are you going?”

James, his agent, follows him as Richie speed walks back to his dressing room like a bat out of hell. His hands are shaking, fuck, he should have grabbed the water before he left the stage. Is his breath alright? God, did he even brush his teeth this morning?

_What the fuck was he thinking giving him that pass?_

Oh yeah, smooth moves operator, insult the guy then invite him backstage to a one man Tozier breakdown. Really, how Richie isn’t swarming in more dicks then he knows how to handle is a mystery in and of itself with game like that.

Maybe they can go on a date to his therapist. At least it’ll be an _original_ idea. What’s more sexy than airing out your difficulties in a safe environment to two practical strangers. One of which he kinda wants to bone and cuddle and hold hands ( _probably in that order because Richie is nothing if not a walking hard-on, like, eighty-two percent of the time. Not in the sexy turned on way though, but in the emotionally constipated ‘I’m a raging dick’ way. His name makes sense, alright!_ ) and the other he _pays_ to coddle and placate and assure him he’s not a walking dumpster fire _all_ the time.

James sputters at him, but he ignores him and gets the attention of an assistant.

“Hey, get me a water and a tin of mints, please. Thanks.”

He continues walking, hanging a left, the door to his dressing room in sight. If he has this right, he has maybe ten minutes before Eddie makes his way backstage. Alright, _ten minutes_ to get his shit together and impress a guy he’s only really had one conversation with into seeing him again.

No big deal, not like the little live wire hit every ‘ _yes, that one, I want that one_ ’ animal brain button in Richie while also managing to look effortlessly attractive with his angular jaw and the slope of his cheeks that highlighted his dimples every time he frowned.

Fuck, where the hell is that _mint_!

“Rich!”

James catches yanking him back before he can retreat into his dressing room and the guy is great, probably couldn’t have asked for a better agent to deal with the amount of bullshit Richie douls out. But right now he is done being a face to the crowd and really just wants to experience his emotional constipation in peace.

_Eight minutes and forty-seven seconds._

“ _What_!”

He huffs eyes wide, hands shaking, and god he must look a mess. James is only concerned and Richie hunches in on himself, feeling like a jackass for snapping at him.

“You done princess? Get it out of your system?” Okay, he _looks_ concerned, but he _sounds_ like an asshole, so Richie doesn’t feel as guilty for his moodiness.

Richie mumbles vaguely shrugging as James gives him a sympathetic pat on the back that also manages to be condescending in the unique way a professional friend who’s seen you blow anxious chunks more times then is strictly healthy can.

Look at Richie Tozier, the dancing clown! See him perform, then crumble into existential dread at the attention _caused_ by his attention seeking behavior! Watch him fold like a deck of cards every time a cute guy smiles at him!

What a pitiful successful douchebag he is.

_Seven minutes and eleven seconds._

Richie is silent and James stares at him and the longer it goes on the more he’s losing time to prepare for Eddie and-

“Here you go Mr. Tozier.”

He chugs half the bottle and munches a handful of mints both to avoid talking and to quiet the panic over his personal hygiene. James doesn’t take the hint, but he never does, and that’s kinda why he likes the guy so Richie has no one to blame but himself.

James sighs looking simultaneously put upon and deeply concerned. “Alright, I don’t know what is going through your head Rich, but…” He smiles at him. “You did good out there buddy. Really, I know this tour wasn’t easy on you. But it’s you bud. All you.”

Something in Richie gives, the part of himself still coming down from the high of his performance keeping him keyed up and anxious with no way to really expel that energy.

The assurance helps, and the dark edge of panic running on repeat in the back of his mind ( _the audience laughed but what about the critics, this is his first big tour since he began writing his own material in full again and they’ll be looking at him more intensely then the small one off venues did._

 _Netflix executives are in that audience and they will make or break this for him, but most importantly there is a broad, passionate, handsome asshole in that audience tonight that Richie desperately wants to impress and this is the most true to form his comedy has been in years and if he doesn’t like the selected parts Richie twists to share then how could he ever like the real deal?_ ) begins to wane.

The low buzz under his skin doesn’t vanish, and neither does the intrinsic thrum of panic singing acapella through his blood stream, but the doubts on his show simmer down as his tunnel vision broadens.

A performer is always his own worst critic.

He smiles at James.

“Thanks.” It comes out a little strained, but the edge that implied ‘ _I’m two seconds away from launching myself out of a window_ ’ dulled to more of a ‘ _alcohol is an unhealthy coping mechanism but that won’t stop me from downing two bourbons in three seconds flat_ ’ which is much more in line with Richie’s typical MO. So, progress.

_Five minutes and thirty-eight seconds._

“And as long as this ‘all you’ thing is paying me as nicely as tonight's success did, I’m prepared to ride this pony all the way home.” James beams at him and Richie snorts shaking his head.

“Your genuine encouragement and confidence in me is overwhelming.”

“Damn straight dude. And since I’m such a great manager-”

“ _Agent_ , Jamie, I don’t need a fucking babysitter-”

“ _Manager_ ,” He gives him a pointed look, pulling out his phone typing faster then Richie can comprehend. “No press interviews. No meet-and-greets. You are _free_ for the next week and a half until we leave to head for Chicago.”

Huh, well that’s not what Richie expected. He had seen the schedule, knew there was a planned break mid-way, but figured it’d just be the usual press-junket crap stuffed in to drum up hype. Tours are typically very _go, go ,go_ in an effort to keep the momentum moving and capture people's attention.

He blinks. “That’s, shockingly nice of you Jamie, what the fuck?” Richie says in lieu of any honest gratitude, but it’s the closest he’ll get to it.

James gives him a roll of his eyes letting out a load groan. “ _James_ , how many times do I have to tell you _my name is James_!”

“A million-and-one Jamie-wamie!” Richie says in a baby voice pinching his agents cheek who promptly slaps his hand away and pauses in his typing to level Richie with a frigid glare.

“So, you _want_ to do a press interview tomorrow on ‘Good Morning America’? Is that what I’m hearing here Rich?”

“You’re bluffing, there’s no way you could set something up-”

He flips the phone to him and the contact at the top reads ‘Robin Roberts’ as well as a text conversation where she’s calling in a favor because a guest cancelled last minute and she’s seeing if he has any availability.

Richie holds up his hands in surrender.

“Fine, fine _James_ , shit man no need to hold my balls in a vice! Jesus, how did you get Robin Roberts contact info though? I’m the face, done numerous interviews with her, and even _I_ don’t have that.”

James shrugs going back to typing, “Her partner and I go way back. I’ve know Amber since high-school. How do you think I got you on the show in the first place Richie?”

So you learn something new everyday. Richie feels like there’s a joke in there about gay solidarity, but _three minutes and twenty-two seconds_.

Oh boy is it hot in here, or is it just him? He’s sweating again, _fuck_.

James waves him off turning to leave. “Enjoy yourself Richie, seriously, you earned this break.”

Oh thank fuck, he opens the door to his dressing room and-

“Hey, Rich?”

He raises a brow, body mid-step into the room and half hanging his upper out to look at James.

“The short dude is hot. Good luck, Beverly told me he’s DtF.” He wiggles his brow and Richie flushes flicking him off as James laugh echoes down the hall.

Motherfucker.

Richie encloses himself in his dressing room scrubbing a nervous hand beneath his glasses.

_Two minutes and fourteen seconds._

Right, how to play this? How do normal functioning adults approach situations where they like someone, want to get to know them ( _in both a sexy way and a ‘I want to listen to you talk for hours’ way_ ), and how do they not fuck it all up?

Because Richie is prime fuck-up material, but he wants this one to go a little better.

The easy solution would be to ask him out, just a simple ‘Hey Eds, want to grab a coffee sometime?’ Nice, casual, straight to the point, not too forward with the option of refusal. But how to _say_ it?

“Hey, no,” He voice sounds strained and he pitches it down, “ _hey_.” Okay, what the fuck!

Now he just sounds like a guy from a cheap porno attempting to be sexy and manly but really coming across as a total tool. Like, we get it _Kyle_ , you’re trying to get some acting in, but you’re in a porno for fucks sake and really the audience just wants to see you dicked down so can we move it along please?

He clears his throat. “Hey, Eds, want to grab a coffee sometime?”

“So, coffee sometime, you and me?”

“Oh, _yeah_ , I know this coffee place nearby, wanna grab a drink with me?”

He smiles awkwardly into the mirror back rim-rod straight and looking as if he’s standing in a funeral precision and not about to have his own meet-cute moment. It’s is just sad honestly. Forty-years-old and still with the charisma of a floundering thirteen-year-old. His fingers twitch for a cigarette, or that bourbon he craved earlier, but he’s been trying to quit both vices and indulging now wouldn’t help his situation anyway.

Talking to Eddie will, like an adult, so _they_ , as one _together_ , could talk about where to take this in a calm and controlled-

There’s two quick knocks on the door and he swings it open before Eddie can even get to a third, but his hand is raised already in the motion of it, and he raps on Richie’s chest instead. He quickly drops his hand flushing wide eyed as he stammers out an apology.

“Shit, I’m sorry I didn’t realize-”

“No, dude, _I_ opened the door, don’t worry about it!”

Eddie steps closer to him poking him in the chest. “Fuck that! You were nice enough to invite me backstage and I assault you, like, who does that? Me, a-fucking-parently.”

Richie snorts holding up his hands in a placating motion, “Whoa, alright, I wouldn’t call that an assault.” Before stepping back and gesturing Eddie into the room.

“Your tiny kitten hands pawed at me _lightly_. It was more of a caress than anything.”

He plows right by him like a small ball of fury whirling around on Richie shaking his head in disbelief.

“Tiny kitten- _what_? Did you seriously just say that? Please, tell me I did not hear that.” Eddie throws up his hands pacing while Richie closes the door with a casual shrug.

Or at least he hopes it comes off as casual, because his brain is really focused on the sharp lines of Eddie’s frame accentuated by the crisp suit he’s _positive_ Beverly made.

“I mean, I could lie to you Eddie Spaghetti, but I want our relationship rooted in truth and unfiltered honesty.”

Eddie’s face goes red and he raises a stern hand by his face. “That’s not my _name_ asswad!”

Richie blinks looking taken aback. And then an idea occurs to him. This is probably the worst direction he could take this, but his mouth is moving before his brain can dive in and prevent the word vomit from happening.

“You sure? I distinctly remember reading that at your Moms house.” He scratches his head moving to lounge on the ugly mustard coloured couch that’s been crammed in there and clearly seen better days. He leaves enough space for Eddie to settle next to him.

He opens his mouth to no doubt deliver a scathing criticism, but Richie cuts him off with an earnest voice. “You know I knew her?”

“Oh please, You did _not_ read- Wait, my mom? _Seriously_? How? She was a germaphobe and a paranoid shut-in! The most she left the house was for knitting club on Wednesdays and Church on Sundays. Bull _shit_ you knew her.” But Eddie betrays his words by settling next to Richie with a pinched brow and honest curiosity in his eyes.

Richie nods with a small fond smile on his face. “Yeah, no, see my Mom was really into the knitting for a while, and dragged me to her club once, that’s how we met-you really didn’t know this?”

Eddie gapes at him a moment, mouth opening and closing in stunned silence.

“No!” He sputters finally. “My mom never mentioned you! I mean, we didn’t really talk for a period of time, but-”

“Don’t take it personally, it’s not really something you tell you son.”

_Take the bait, take the bait, take the bait, take the bait-_

“Tell me what? What is it?”

_Fuck yes!_

Richie smirks leaning close into Eddie’s space. “Yeah, hard to tell your son you’re getting plowed six ways to Sunday.”

Eddie gags with a full body shudder, “Fucking _shit_ that’s my _mother_ you bargain-bin has-been! The _fuck_ is wrong with you! She’s fucking _dead_ asshole!”

Richie mimes brushing away a tear sighing wistfully, “And a great tragedy that was. A loss of the greatest pussy this world has ever had the good fortune of opening for business.”

He gags again and shoves him for good measure, but Richie just laughs enjoying the creep of red peeking out from beneath the collar of Eddie’s shirt. Fuck, he wonders how far down that goes...

“Holy _shit_ , you don’t _say_ that kinda crap to people you barely even _know_!”

“So, let’s get to know each other.”

“What?”

Clearly Richie has ascended to new levels of dumbassery that were not thought possible, but here they are. So, he leans into it, the words spilling from his mouth said far more confidently than he actually feels.

“ _Yeah_ , I know this coffee place nearby, wanna grab a drink with me?”

And there it is! He said it, it’s out there now, he fired his shot. No one can ever say he didn’t try.

To Eddie’s infinite credit, he looks more astounded than angry ( _but still kinda angry with his furrowed brow and predominant dimples that stand out more when he pulls a frown. Richie feels a yearning to reach out and trace the edge of his cheek, but that would probably be a bit much at this point so he shows a shocking amount of self restraint by instead shoving his hands in his pocket to pick at the inseam- something Bev has warned him off doing numerous times that he never listens to_ ).

It only deepens Richie’s desire to know this man more and more. “Are you seriously asking me out after insulting my dead mother? _To my face_?”

He licks his dry lips, and nearly has a heart attack as Eddie’s eyes dart down to watch before looking back pointedly.

Oh.

Yeah, he’s so fucked isn’t he?

( _Hopefully, yeah, yes, wow, one hundred percent. The Tozier express has left the station and is on it’s way to dick town where the packages **never** stop coming. _

_Ha, he makes a mental note to remember that jem for future use._ )

“Uh, if the answer is yes. Then, yeah. That-That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

Eddie stares at him as if he’s a particularly complicated puzzle like the really big ones that Stan does that have about 10,000 pieces and make Richie’s brain sloosh out of his ears at just the _thought_ of sitting down to put one together. He can see how the little pieces fit together, the final image imprinted on his mind after one look, but the effort to sit there for _hours_ focusing on one thing? Richie can’t fathom it.

But Eddie’s got that look, one of concentration and focus all centered on Richie and it makes his body warm to think that all that effort is being spent on _him_.

Whatever Eddie’s thinking, Richie sees it the moment he makes a decision. The corner of his lips set in a firm line, and his eyes move from a vague point staring off Richie’s right shoulder to look him in the eye with such intensity Richie can’t help the sharp intake of breath as he drowns in the sheer determination that is Eddie Kaspbrak. He moves closer to him, and his voice is low, but it still drowns out every other sound around Richie with the conviction it’s spoken.

“What if I don’t want to get a coffee. What if…” He places a hand on Richie’s knee and slowly slides it up his thigh leaving ample time for Richie to remove it if he wants.

But what he _wants_ is for the cloth of his pants to get the _hell_ out of the way so he can feel that hand burn a trail on the pale inner skin of his thighs lightly teasing his leg hair. He makes a choked sound in his throat and Eddie stops his hand just before the tips of his fingers can reach the growing bulge in Richie’s pants.

“What if what I _want_ is…” He holds his gaze as he licks his thin lips biting his bottom lightly- and yup ah, wow, there she blows! Little Richard at full-mast! Hoist the sails mateys! “...what _you_ want.”

“W-what… What _I_ want?”

“Yeah.”

“I want…” so much all at once, it’s impossible for Richie to pin down the swirling of his thoughts.

Most _immediately_ he _wants_ Eddie’s palm pressing firm and hot against him feeling the outline of him through the layers of designer threads he’s felt stifled in all evening. He _wants_ to arch into that touch, and reach out to ruck up the fitted dress shirt that’s been driving Richie crazy since he first laid eyes on him and trail his fingers across his abdomen and watch the other man shudder as he dips his fingers into the curve of his hip. He _wants_ to mess both of them up until they are in an equal fit, crumpled jackets, pants half down, feeling the other in a blazing tail of desire.

He _wants_ Eddie to want _him_ in equal measure, both leaned into each other until neither is sure where one begins and the other ends.

But beneath the sharp tang of lust is an even deeper craving for _more, more, more_ that he can only hope Eddie’s on board with because he doesn’t want this to end in a moment of passion. A blazing inferno that flairs and then smolders out into a pile of ash.

He _wants_ to feed the flare, nurture it and watch it mix, churn, and blend with Eddie’s into an eternal fire all their own. Something special and unique they can cultivate together and watch bloom into something neither could have ever imagined in their wildest dreams.

It’s too much to say now, too much for this fledgling bud of romance, but he needs him to know, he _needs_ Eddie to understand that what he wants is...

“I _want_ -”

“Richie, you in there?” Both of them freeze up, not a breath whispered between them, at the tentative knocks of Ben on the door.

“Bev got her phone taken by security and now they’re giving her a hard time about it.”

Fucking, mother bitch ass son of a- _**FUCK**_!

“Yeah, little busy, Ben!” Please take the very blunt hint and go the _fuck_ away!

There’s shuffling on the other side of the door and what sounds like a strained conversation muffled by the door, before Ben knocks again and sounds deeply apologetic. “Stan’s with her, and it’s this woman that knew her in high-school? A blond, with tight frizzy curly hair? Gale- or Grace- something. She’s accusing Bev of illegally recording the show. It’s, uh, it’s getting pretty heated Rich.”

Richie lets out a strangled groan of frustration as Eddie blinks a few times moving back and calling out to Ben. “Wait, it’s not _Greta_ is it?” He spits out the name with vitriol, as if it rolling off his tongue disgusts him.

But Ben didn’t realize Eddie was in there with him.

Fuck-shit, okay he has no idea how okay Eds is with-whatever it is they have going on- and other people knowing and this is why you _fucking talk first Richard_. And oh my god, what if he’s a major closet case, because up until two years ago that’s _exactly_ what Richie was! And here he is putting him in an uncomfortable situation because he never covered the basics like a goddamned jackass!

 _Consent, consent, consent_! He’s such a dumb dick headed _ass_ hole! How the _hell_ can he claim to care when he can’t even have a reasonable _conversation_ about if the guy he’s head over heels for is even _okay_ with public attention.

Because that’s a pretty big thing that comes with being a celebrity, even a small time comedian like Richie! (Only he’s not _really_ so small time, but he refuses to think of himself in terms of being famous because it makes his skin crawl despite the two mill followers on twitter that would insist otherwise.)

There's the sound of muffled talking, probably Stan on the phone, before Ben responds. “Uh, yeah. Actually. I think that's it. You know her too, Eddie?”

“Mother _fucker_ , yeah I fucking _know_ her! Of course _she_ has to be here and ruin this. It’s, like, you get your life together enough to get the attention of an unreasonable hot asshole and _suddenly_ the world conspires so you can’t even touch his _dick_!”

Richie makes an unreasonable desperate keening sound that he wasn’t even aware was _possible_ by human vocal cords and has to physically sit on his hands to stop himself from reaching back out to Eddie to continue where they left off _their friends be damned_.

Ben clears his throat, “So, are you coming- I, uh I mean joining me- _going with_?” There’s some muttering and muffled laughter- _definitely_ Stan on the phone- and a dull thunk of something hitting the door.

“You think I’ll let Bev deal with the wicked witch of the west by herself? Yeah, _fuck_ that.” He glares at the door as if it's the aforementioned witch herself, before turning a softer gaze to Richie that makes little floating bubbles dance in his gut.

“Just, uh, give us a minute, Ben.”

Ben says something, probably an affirmative, but Richie’s too distracted by the casual way Eddie walks closer to him to kneel between his parted legs and reaches out slowly to run a hand across his jaw the pads of his fingers getting caught on the light stubble there. He looks at him like no ones really _looked_ at Richie before, and the hope that springs in his chest is just as intoxicating as the feel of Eddie’s hands on his face like soft presses of _fire_ into his skin.

“Rain check then, Eds? Cause we are _absolutely_ revisiting that bit about me being unreasonable hot.”

Fuck, no, be serious Tozier.

“You know, if that’s where you want to take this. Because I do. That’s what I want, you. This. Us? Definitely us. If you do, with me. The us thing.”

It’s not everything that he wants to say, not even touching the surface of it, and this has probably been the _most_ melodramatic way to ask a guy out ( _Though that’s kind of Richie’s brand- over dramatic reactions that span what should be a two second conversation into a small novella of ineptitude_ ). Because that’s essentially all he’s really accomplished here.

But it’s a step on a new, hopefully long, winding path.

However, he’s still only human, so he ruins the moment quite thoroughly. “And the paparazzi. Comes with the whole package, as well as _my_ package, that you mentioned touching, and I _also_ want to return to that after springing Bev from the hoosegow.”

Eddie’s has this small half grin on his face that sends giddy sparks up and down Richie’s back. Fuck exercise, Eddie smiling at him is enough of a work out for his heart to clear up forty years worth of a shitty diet in a day.

Richie returns the grin with unrestrained affection, and his hands yearn to encircle the others waist, but he holds back. “What cha’ say Eddie Spaghetti, Prison Break, touching dicks, then coffee?”

Eddie huffs rolling his eyes. “That’s not my name fuck nuts!”

“Yes, no, maybe so?”

“ _Oh my god_ , are you going to be like this all the time?”

“Gonna need a verbal confirmation to board the train to Tozier Town. I’m big on consent, hot cakes.”

“Please shut up, you’re running it. I had this image of you as this romantic debonair but you are literally shitting on it the more we speak.”

He’s still smiling though, so it destroys the angry front he’s putting on.

“No can do peaches-” Eddie puts a hand to his mouth a wistful look on his face.

“Me too Richie. The ‘us’ thing. I want to try.”

And then he frowns.

“But without the nicknames. They’re terrible, and every one ascends me closer to a new plane of rage I’ve never felt before in my life. It’s like Dante’s Inferno, but the endless expanse of hell is replaced with those _fucking_ names.”

Richie snorts a laugh.

“No can do Eddie Spaghetti, you’re just so _chuckalicious_ they spill outta me on queue.”

Eddie gives him a dry stare before rolling his eyes. “You’re gonna be a handful, I can just _tell_.”

The jokes there, laid perfectly in his lap with a bow, but Richie shows self-restraint, and does what he really wanted to do from the start.

Something he hopes to do more of in the foreseeable future with this man that managed to impress Richie in the first five minutes of meeting.

He tells himself, _they can do this_.

He holds his hand.

**Author's Note:**

> I started this intending to make a very short one shot, but then I kept going. Let me know what you think in the comments!
> 
> Also, I made a twitter to update on in-progress works! I take requests too! 
> 
> Twitter: [@edspageds](https://twitter.com/edspageds)
> 
> May do an NSFW follow up, but I felt this needed to end where it did. Hope you enjoyed the read, much love! ❤︎ 
> 
> P.S. The trashcan story is true. And that's all I'll say on that.
> 
> Texting Conversation log:
> 
> Bev: go get em hun ;))  
> Eddie: FUCK  
> Eddie:YOU  
> Eddie: You're not even supposed to be on your phone during the show! There's, like, thirty fucking signs around this place saying that. They Announced it. You'll get kicked out and your phone confiscated then where will we be?  
> Bev: me?? without a phone  
> Bev: you??? 8==D~  
> Bev: get it ;) ;) ;) ;)  
> Eddie: Use emojis like a normal person you fuckin' weirdo.  
> Bev: no  
> Bev: ;)  
> Bev: srsly tho dont ovrthnk it jus tlk!! rich is into u bby!  
> Bev: ur butifullifjosnsurn  
> Eddie: ...  
> Eddie: You got caught didn't you.


End file.
